By Joel Magalnick, JTNews Correspondent
Maybe it was the wrestling. Or perhaps it was the use of birdcalls to recite a poem. Whatever it was that tied the wide range of sketches that made up the Seattle-based Typing Explosion Local 898’s new show, “This is a Test,” together, it worked.
While the show itself may have come off as somewhat incongruous, the three members of the Typing Explosion say the way they envision their performance — what would a mid-century secretary’s real life be like — makes perfect sense, at least to them.
“We’ve kind of created our own technique,” says Sara Paul Ocampo, one of the three of the Typing Explosion’s “Dianes,” as they’re known. They don’t stick to a rigid formula, however. “Each performance we try to throw something into the mix,” Ocampo adds.
Sierra Nelson and Rachel LaRue Kessler, the other two Dianes, have with Ocampo been popping out poems on their vintage manual typewriters for five years. The original gist of their performance was this: members of their audience either make up a title or choose one out of a small cabinet that looks like an old-fashioned card catalogue. They then hand it to one of the Dianes, all of whom sit at a long table with their matching typewriters and ‘50s-vintage green woolen dresses, replete with the swoopy ‘D’ on the lapel.
The first Diane takes the title, and on carbon paper begins writing a poem. After a few moments, she pulls the paper out, hands it to the next Diane to continues that poem while taking one of the other works in progress to add in a few lines. In the flurry of papers flying and keyboards clacking, all three Dianes have put their own flavor onto each poem, and in the end, each member of the audience has a piece of poetry to take home.
For “This is a Test,” however, the typing took a back seat to the rest of the performance, but that didn’t stop them from passing things around: the Dianes shared a flask during their so-called union break.
“This is a Test” also incorporated heavy audience participation. One audience member answered the rotary phone in the front row, and requested that everyone else fill out messages on the standard pink office pads lying under each seat. Nelson later read the messages out loud. The Dianes also made puppets from audience members’ socks — yes, directly off their feet — while Kessler played a love song on the accordion.
“We’re going to be a poetic menace,” she said.
If it all sounds strange, you probably had to be there to truly enjoy the humor.
Locally, the show was scheduled for only four performances, but the Typing Explosion spent a good part of the month on the road. Their opening performance was actually a fundraiser to help send them to Venice, Italy, where they had been invited by the Holly Snapp Gallery.
Ocampo said a stripped-down version of the show was mainly performed on the sidewalks of Venice as a part of the Venice Biennale Festival. They then vacationed as guests of the Olivetti typewriter factory.
Now that they’re back in town, however, the Dianes have a busy schedule through the end of the month. In addition to the day jobs — Ocampo works at a hospital and Nelson at a bakery, while Kessler raises her two children and writes grant requests for the Typing Explosion — on June 22, a documentary about the group will premiere at the Little Theater in Capitol Hill, the same place they performed “This is a Test.”
Then, on June 27, they will hold a book release party at Bailey/Coy Books on Broadway in Capitol Hill.
Their book, T.Y.P.O., is a spiral-bound combination of typing lessons (“2. Are your feet resting squarely on the floor”) with dark satire mixed in (“6. Are you all alone, lit only by the light leaking from the open refrigerator door?”), and practice essays with titles such as “A Description of Ornate Helmets” and “Hoover Dam.”
The book was partially funded by a grant from Seattle’s Office of Cultural Affairs.
The Local 898 will also continue to perform at functions around town, including art openings, office parties, where Nelson says people “don’t know what to make of us,” and perhaps even Bar Mitzvahs. Anything, Ocampo added, to keep them sharp.